


Never Gonna Need Another

by alexa_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Fingerfucking, Lap Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/pseuds/alexa_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt-fill for LJ comm, "Hoodietime": Sam/Dean. Dean gets off the best on pain due to his general self-esteem issues, hell, purgatory issues-- anything. When Sam figures it out he’s very concerned, and tries to find some tender vanilla ways to help. Sam likes rough sex himself but he doesn’t get off on hurting his brother. Can they work something out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Gonna Need Another

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:" _"Sam/Dean. Dean gets off the best on pain due to his general self-esteem issues, hell, purgatory issues-- anything. When Sam figures it out he’s very concerned, and tries to find some tender vanilla ways to help. Sam likes rough sex himself but he doesn’t get off on hurting his brother. Can they work something out?"_ "
> 
> AN: All mistakes are my own. Also, known as my attempt at quasi-vanilla, post-purgatory sex.

He thinks about all the times his brother has carried him, indulged him, given in to him, even after Ruby, after Lucifer and madness. Thinks it’s possible to find a middle ground, because there is only so far Sam is willing to go.

Sam can understand pain, experienced the need for it himself, for an altogether different reason: guilt, penance. 

No, Dean is searching for a high-- the adrenaline of fear. 

 _This_ Sam can give. 

“I’ll do this,” he says to Dean. “But you have to trust me to set the limits for you.” He thinks of Benny and frowns. 

“Only me, Dean. Only I get to do this for you. Be this for you. You get me?” 

“ _Yeah,_ ” Dean says, breathless and wrecked and openly hungry, lip sucked in between even white teeth, a little hesitant with apprehension like a thundercloud over him. “Okay.”

Sam slips out of bed-- cupping himself against his belly, cock leaking wet into his palm--and goes for his belt; hiss of the leather strap against denim loops. 

 _“Turn around.”_ Sam is a little unbalanced around Dean, can’t find his footing the rules change so often. 

Eyes holding shadows, Dean does so easily:  legs spreading out on the mattress for Sam’s knee and Sam takes a moment to feel desire shimmy up his spin. Sam is allowed to look now, openly appreciative: criss-cross scars and shadows pooling in the valley of his back, cupping delicately the sharp dip where Dean’s buttocks meet his thigh. 

He smacks the belt lightly against Dean’s thigh. 

“Arms back.” 

Dean’s shoulders leave the bed as he follows orders. 

Sam winds the belt around Dean’s arms, pulling back until Dean grunts and his elbows touch. Satisfied, Sam buckles the belt. 

 _This is power,_ Sam thinks, feeling a little like a lion-tamer. Dean’s face is crushed against the sheets and sweat breaks over his skin in a slick glimmer. Sam loves this, loves how he’s permitted to take his time to spread himself over Dean, fit snug between his muscles, delicious and dirty and everything Sam needs for the moment—to thrust into the ring-shape of Dean—shy of cutting through. He moans into his brother’s hair. 

“Gonna take care of you,” he soothes as Dean struggles to push back, twisting his hips. Pleasure itches deep inside his belly at Dean’s helpless response to Sam’s need. 

“Yeah, I’m kinda _not_ believing you at the moment,” Dean retorts, secret mouth kissing the crown of Sam’s dick, drawing Sam in, chasing him with every stroke.

He hunches over Dean’s arms as his hands follow the lines of Dean. His fingers curl over Dean's hips and Sam sinks his teeth into Dean's shoulder, growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Fuck!” 

“You like it.” 

“Not as much as I like your dick in my ass,” Dean tries, weakly. 

“Mmmmm,” Sam smiles against Dean’s cheek. “Me too.” 

He pulls back to open Dean up, to spit into the submerged muscle there and covers Dean with his thumb to spread bubbles over the glowing pink ring. The sound Dean makes is long and half-strangled. Could be a curse. Could be a plea. And it makes Sam smile wider. 

“I’d rim you,” Sam says, surprised at how matter-of-fact it comes out. “Want to feel you against my mouth, taste you on my tongue, but I don’t think it’s what you need right now.” 

“What I need,“ Sam can all but see the drag of Dean’s tongue over his lips, the gleam of shiny-wet, "is for you to shut up and do something.”

 Sam tugs a little until he can see the intimate skin inside his brother, dark as the color of Dean’s lips. 

Dean nearly bucks him off the bed. 

“Whoa there.” Sam startles. “Eager much?” 

"Fuck you, Sam." 

Sam is done teasing really, because it’s not doing either of them any good to hold back. There’s no point he can think of. And _this_ , well this-- pushing in, forcing Dean’s body into submission, colliding with Dean’s instinct to shut him out _is_ what Sam lives for-- what he can’t and _won’t_ live without. Would have eventually betrayed a marriage with Amelia for, in spite of his feelings for her. Could have killed Benny over. 

He rests his weight on Dean: back bowed like a bridge over him, brow pressed firm between Dean’s shoulder blades as he lines up with his free hand, catch-sliding alongside his thumb. Dean’s hands curl into fists as he sucks in a shaky breath. 

Sam pushes in, becoming impatient now too, wanting _in_ and _now_. Pulls away and centers himself before moving in again, more give with every push. 

 _“Ah,”_ Sam puffs and Dean makes a muffled sound of pain. 

“Mmmm—ah. Just like that. Open up for me, open up wide.” Sam may very well sound stupid, but his words are as much to ground himself as to ease Dean. 

Sam knows he’s doing it right when he can feel Dean wince with his entire body around him, thrusting forward into the sheets and away from Sam and holding his breath. 

“ _Wider,_ Dean.” 

“Not gonna happen—“ 

“Now I don't believe you.” Sam refuses to lose ground over this and keeps a steady pressure, leaving no room for Dean to back out of this thing he started. Dean will take it as weakness in Sam. Take it as an excuse to look for someone else who will. Like _Benny._  

Sam frowns. It’s enough.

Sam thrusts in, a jarring impact that has Dean yipping, loud as a gun shot, mattress springs screaming as Sam pulls back only to press in again; nothing but sweat between Sam’s hips and Dean’s ass, knuckles of his thumb dragging along his cock until Sam’s vision goes dark and he feels himself stretching out and filling out in a way he thinks impossible. 

Because, fuck, this is-- this is –

Sam doesn’t know what this is, but he can’t stop himself. Pleasure arcs from dick to belly to his reptile brain, buzzing like a power line. His entire world reduced to Dean: the crack of his skin meeting Sam’s, the clutching, tensing, sucking heat on Sam’s blood-heavy cock. 

He's close to tipping into a place he doesn’t care to visit yet. Not when he still has the knuckle of his ring finger nudging in, teasing Dean until he drags a leg up beneath him, opening further and pushing up to kiss Sam’s hips with his ass: saying everything Sam needs to know. 

Sam all but hears the pop as he sidles in, framing his dick inside Dean and fighting the resistance of the opening with thumb and forefinger. 

“Oh my God.” 

“Yeah,” Sam huffs, panting and sweating and pausing to allow the pleasure to plateau. He’s not ready to come yet. Not when it’s this good and dirty and fucking hot. “I know what you mean.” 

Sam’s cheek scruffs over the back of Dean’s neck when he begins to move again and the sound makes them both shudder. It cuts through the clap of their bodies, the whine of bedsprings. And yeah, maybe even the headboard chipping the paint off the wall. Dean grunts and hisses, scrapes his teeth against the sheets, the sound of it fucking Sam up good and proper, threatening to scatter his thoughts to the wind. 

So, Sam can’t bother feeling ashamed of the high, keening noise he’s making. The head of his dick parting the swell of muscles closing in on him, his grip tight as Dean writhes underneath him, possibly struggling to get closer or maybe away, quite possibly in between.

 Nothing anyone can understand or come between, anyway. It has taken them a lifetime to shed the guilt and shame of existing outside the law. Accomplices in all things, made of _forever and always._  

Sam should really pull back, help his brother out and up, because smothering could be a very real danger, but as Dean moves beneath him, keeps him afloat on rough seas, to bring up his other knee, Sam is relieved and impressed at the splay of Dean’s legs. 

Sam is so hot for it he plows into Dean hard enough to split his name in two, from _Sam_ to Sah- _ehm_. He’s barely able to keep himself from filling Dean up, balls drawn up so taut Sam’s sure to find them blue. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Fuck Dean, _fuck_ \--” He lunges forward, and they skid up the bed, Dean taking most of the impact, Sam trailing after and grinding into him from behind. Dean’s elbows crush against Sam’s sternum. Hard enough he flinches, but not hard enough to stop Sam from doing what he’s doing, which is fucking Dean deep and brutal until they bounce off each other and the mattress like beads in Newton’s cradle. 

And Sam can’t help it, can’t help following the slanting planes of Dean with both hands to grab hold of the belt rendering him helpless. Pulls Dean back to lift him off the bed, cheeks red and raw and lips spit-slick, leaving the sheet damp with saliva. Dean’s chest heaves, his muscles strain, blood vessels in sharp relief. He is all but sitting in Sam’s lap. Nothing left for Sam to do except give and give in a retaliation of flesh. 

He pulls and pulls at Dean’s arms. Sam is in danger of falling back and Dean is bolt upright, rearing up like a horse, dick bobbing violently, smacking wetly against his belly, Sam’s thigh. 

A tiny animal whine slips from Dean’s lips, unbidden and unwelcome and exposed as Sam collects payment for any real or imagined indiscretions, for the heart Dean sought to take back from Sam when it has always been Sam’s birthright. 

He yanks Dean in as he thrusts up into him, thinking how similar this is to fighting. Warmth spreads over him, has Sam taking shivery, shallow breaths as he lifts his face to scrape along Dean’s back, one arm going around Dean’s waist, pushing against his lower belly like it belongs there and he thinks about the slick trail he’s leaving inside. 

He pushes further in as if there is any more ground to gain, the air thick with the sound and smell of sex. 

“Oh, you dick,” Dean huffs, consonants blurred together and Sam echoes the sentiment with _fucks_ louder than the slap of his balls against his brother’s flanks. 

Dean manages to curl his feet around Sam’s ankles, heels digging into the meat of Sam’s ass, shifting gears and control.

And Sam wants nothing more than to see Dean’s face. Though Sam has seen it a million times before: lidded eyes and overripe mouth parted on sighs, neck bared, all of him pushed toward Sam, to break like a wave over rocks. 

Sam can feel himself swelling, pushing out anything that isn’t Sam as Dean rides him, laughing low and rough at Sam as he squeezes, tight and merciless, rising and setting as though his life is on the line. The frantic jitter of his hips atop Sam makes Sam feel clumsy and slow in comparison. They move together, Dean’s scars shifting against Sam’s body, the first-light glow of Dean’s skin against the dusk of Sam’s. 

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna--” Dean clamps down on him, tight and hungry, and moans. “ _Sam--_.” Fat teardrops of semen scatter over their thighs, but Sam works him through it, glimpsing his own orgasm just over the horizon like daybreak.

 It washes over Sam warm and slow, growing in heat and violence until he’s jerking in stutters and pumps, messy and slick and spilling out all over, trails of come slipping down his inner thighs before he’s even halfway done, imagines soaking Dean inside and holds Dean tighter against his chest: rocking them both through the aftershocks. 

Dean is the first to come out of it. 

“Dude, my _arms._ I can’t feel them anymore.” 

“Oh,” Sam answers stupidly. “Yeah, sorry.” And blushes.

“Fuck.” Dean rubs his wrists, wiggling on Sam’s lap. "You know, I’m thinking we should try and walk over to the bathroom together. This is gonna be nasty. ”

“I don’t think it’ll work.”

 “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

 “Can you give me a moment?” He tightens his arms around Dean's waist and nuzzles his face against his back.

 “Dude, I have sheet-burn on my <i>face</i>!”

“Shut up and cuddle with me. You know you love it.”

“Yeah,” Dean relaxes. “Maybe a little.”


End file.
